


Sleep Talking

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, Sleeptalking, mention of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 13:43:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Sherlock Holmes sleep-talked, and one time John did.</p><p>Contains mentions of giant marshmallows, tigers, wildly important teddy bears, ducks in boots, giants and flesh-eating rabbits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep Talking

**Author's Note:**

> These characters do not belong to me.
> 
> This is my first time doing a 5+1 fic, and it kind of tested my patience considering I'm the kind of person who can't stick at something for longer than half an hour usually. But I think it turned out alright!

 

1 - Aged 11  


  
It was 2am, and 18-year-old Mycroft Holmes was just getting home. His parents would be having words with him in the morning, but he didn't care. He'd been networking. It was important to get to know the important people in the area, especially since his family was so reclusive.

He was just tiptoeing past Sherlock's room when he heard a sound. Someone was talking. Mycroft straightened up and held up his umbrella in a defensive position before slowly pushing open the door, holding his breath.

All he saw was Sherlock, lying fast asleep in the centre of his bed. For a second, Mycroft was confused, wondering who possibly could have been speaking. Suddenly, Sherlock opened his mouth.

"Nooo... Don't... Don't turn me into shoes... I want to see the giant marshmallow. Get me the giant marshmallow."

He grabbed his pillow and began hugging it to his chest.

"Thank you, Mycroft. You can leave now."

Mycroft startled, thinking that Sherlock had woken up, but he was still asleep.

"I said, thank you for the giant marshmallow. Now go away."

Resisting the urge to splutter with laughter, Mycroft backed out of the door and left Sherlock to his dreams.

 

 

2 - Aged 28

Greg sighed, raking a tired hand through his hair as he rang repeatedly on the doorbell of the dingy flat. Stupid Sherlock. He'd said he was off the drugs for good, but they were ten days into a case and Greg was almost certain he knew where the idiot was trying to get his inspiration from.

He wasn't going to let it happen this time.

Rounding the side of the building, he saw a window open on Sherlock's floor.

"SHERLOCK," he shouted, "GET DOWN HERE OR I'M CLIMBING UP AND GETTING YOU MYSELF."

An old lady on the street tutted, walking her dog snootily, and he gave her a glare before turning back to the window.

"Right. I'm going up," he muttered grimly to himself, spitting on his hands. He started to scale the building, finding footholes on wonky bricks and windowsills.

Finally pulling himself up through the window, Greg collapsed on the floor, arms aching. He got up and brushed himself down, and then squinted in the dark room to see if Sherlock was there.

At first, he didn't see him, but then he saw the dark form lying on the bed and hurried over, certain that Sherlock had overdosed or collapsed, but he only got a few steps before Sherlock's voice stopped him.

"Do not come any closer or I will set my tiger on you!"

Greg paused, confused.

"Huh? What?"

"You heard what I said. This tiger has more power in its left paw than you have in your entire body. Now drop the weapon and leave."

"What? Sherlock, I don't have a weapon. And what are you talking about - a tiger?"

Sherlock didn't answer, so he went closer, wondering if Sherlock was talking in a drug-addled state, but he seemed to be... Asleep. His eyes were closed. He was breathing slowly and heavily. He certainly didn't look like he had been using again, which was a relief, so Greg sat down and waited for him to wake up.

Half an hour later (after an interesting monologue on the usefulness of bubble bath) Sherlock started upright and started to scramble off the bed before the sight of Greg stopped him in his tracks.

"Lestrade? What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you to wake up. You know, Sherlock, you should sleep during the nights, rather than in the middle of the day. Much more healthy."

Sherlock sniffed haughtily and swept out of the door, Greg following behind, chuckling, and debating whether to bring up Sherlock's sleeptalking at the pub night with his colleagues on Friday.

 

 3 - Aged 32  


They had just solved a particularly demanding case involving a man killed in a huge maze and a large poisonous bubble machine. John decided to go out and get takeaway from the Chinese around the corner, but Sherlock looked too exhausted to move so he left him sitting on the sofa.

When he returned, he heard talking upstairs in the flat. Wondering who it could be, he walked up and was faced with an empty room. No, wait, it wasn't empty - Sherlock was lying on the sofa, fast asleep. Confused, John was just about to check with Mrs Hudson whether anyone had visited while he was out when Sherlock shouted.

"I REFUSE TO GIVE YOU THE RANSOM MONEY. WE WILL RESCUE MR FLUFFLES IF IT IS THE LAST THING WE DO."

John stared, his brain not quite absorbing what was happening.

"Who's Mr Fluffles, Sherlock?" he asked, wondering if Sherlock would hear it in his dream.

"Mr Fluffles is only the most important teddy bear in the history of mankind. He needs to be saved."

Beginning to laugh, John sat down in his favourite armchair and began to listen properly.

"Look. I'm the negotiator for the Fluffles family and they are refusing to pay you ransom. Be warned. We are coming for Mr Fluffles, and we will get him back if it kills us."

4 - Aged 34  


  
Sally was tired, and frustrated, and generally angry with the world around her. Stupid worthless Anderson had ignored her all day, and the Freak had picked up on it and broadcast it to the entire force, who were now avoiding looking her in the eyes. It had been an awful day.

Speaking of the freak, she could see him and John sitting on uncomfortable-looking chairs, waiting to give their statements. As she watched, John stood up and said something. The Freak nodded slowly and settled down into his seat. A few minutes after John was gone, he was fast asleep.

It was actually kind of fascinating, watching the Freak be a human being. All the arrogance slipped off his face and he looked so much... Younger.

Until he opened his mouth and started speaking. Sally stared at him. His mouth was moving, words were coming out, but he was fast asleep. She never thought she'd actually want to hear him speaking any more than necessary, but she found herself opening her door and walking over to hear what he was saying.

"It's an obvious dilemma," he was drawling, "but the duck must be given back his boots. It's essential in order for this union of nations to continue."

Sally stood there, not knowing whether to wake the freak up or laugh.

"Don't be silly. The right-wing ducks are okay. It's the left-wing ones we need to be worried about."

Okay, she should definitely wake him up. This was just embarrassing. But... She didn't want to be snapped back to the reality just yet. She let Sherlock be.

Sherlock. She'd called him Sherlock.

 

5 - Aged 35

  
Anderson was feeling strangely happy. He had been told that he might be getting a promotion. His wife hadn't suspected him of an affair. Oh, and his favourite show was back on TV tonight.

His dream was cruelly shattered by DI Lestrade.

He walked in to the crime scene, practically whistling he was so cheerful, when he saw Sherlock, swaying on his feet as John and Lestrade stood beside him, looking concerned.

"I think someone's drugged him," John was saying worriedly, "he's acting like someone's given him a sleeping pill."

"Right. We need to get him to a bed before he collapses. Anderson," the Inspector snapped, looking around at him, "your house is just down the road, isn't it?"

"Yes... You're not seriously suggesting what I think you're suggesting, are you?"

"You don't have a choice."

  
So that was why Anderson was angrily making a cup of tea in his kitchen while Sherlock Holmes slept in his spare room upstairs. Irritated beyond belief, he stormed upstairs to check that the room hadn't been vandalised.

He could hear Sherlock talking.

"You aren't awake already, are you?" He said, annoyed, walking into the room, but Sherlock was fast asleep on the bed.

"Fascinating," Sherlock was saying, "how a giant's ability to lift strong weights is held back by their ability to sew clothing."

Anderson narrowed his eyes. Was Sherlock taking the mickey?

"Of course," snorted Sherlock, "you wouldn't know. You're just an idiot."

Angry once more, Anderson stormed out of the room and down the stairs, slamming the door as he entered the kitchen just to spite Sherlock, despite the fact that he couldn't hear him.

 

+1 - John, Aged 39

  
Sherlock sat by John's bed in the hospital, silently fuming. Stupid mugger for attacking his best friend. Stupid police force for letting him get away. Stupid ambulance for not arriving fast enough. Stupid John for getting stabbed.

Stupid Sherlock for leaving him alone.

He was about to stand up and shout for someone to bring him tea when John spoke.

"Sh'lock..."

John wasn't awake yet, annoyingly. He was just sleeptalking. Still, it'd be a fascinating way to catalogue the way in which John's subconscious mind worked. He leant forward, eager to hear more than just his name.

"Don't let the... rabbits... eat me, Sh'lock"

Odd the way people's minds worked. Funny, really.

At least he was fairly certain that he had never sleeptalked. That could have been highly embarrassing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to comment, leave kudos, it always makes me happy! ;D


End file.
